


Smeghead

by DoreyG



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Mainly dialogue, Orgasm no longer looks like a word, Orgasming without touch, Talking somebody to orgasm, Unexpected orgasms, humiliation (verbal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For smeg’s sake, Rimmer, would you just <i>shut up</i>.”</p>
<p>“…Make me.”</p>
<p>A pause.</p>
<p>“…Wha?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smeghead

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Humiliation (Verbal) square on my Kink_Bingo. Set on Starbug... Very vaguely, for timings are HARD (like Rimmer, HUHUHUHU). Contains a lot of talking. And, yes, the word 'orgasm' really _has_ stopped resembling a word to me (I'm mainly just giggling at it now, which probably isn't the _best_ reaction).

“For smeg’s sake, Rimmer, would you just _shut up_.”

“…Make me.”

A pause.

“…Wha?”

”We-weren’t you listening, _Listy_? _Make_. Me.”

“…You have _got_ to be kidding.”

“Wh- _Why_ would I be joking?” Rimmer simply stood a little taller, crossed his arms in a way that he probably _thought_ made him look dashing and daring but that really made him look like as much of a smeghead as ever, “too long have I squeaked into silence at the rumble of your voice, too long have I let myself be chained by-by simple words from an overly arrogant _goit_ -!”

“You _what_?”

“-Now, my dearest darling _Lister_ , it is time to back up your words!”

Another pause.

He sat slowly up in his bunk, resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall until the world started making sense again “…You want me to punch you, Rimmer?”

“ _What_? N-no-!”

“But you just said!”

“I did not-“ Rimmer halted, looked back over his thoughts in a reluctant (and mortifying, if only because _everything_ that Rimmer did ended up mortifying) way “…Alright, so maybe I did. But that wasn’t exactly the _point_!”

…There’s a point.

Oh _smeg_ there’s a point, “what _was_ the point, then?”

“The point _was_ ,” and, if there was a point, there also had to be a deep breath of air – and a huff, and Rimmer somehow managing to draw himself up even _further_ , “proving that you cannot back up your words no matter how often you many snarl them!”

…He blinks, “but I can back up my words.”

“You can’t!”

“I _can_ -“

“No, you most certainly can’t!” Rimmer hesitated briefly, it would’ve been amusing if the temptation to bang his head against the wall hadn’t morphed into a full blown _longing_ to rip his brain out through his ears “…Can you?”

“I just said I _could_ -“

“…Ah.”

He lifted a hand to his forehead, _groaned_.

“…Don’t punch me.”

“I’m not _going_ to punch you.”

“That’s what people say before they punch you!”

“What fights have _you_ been in?”

“…”

“…Shouldnta asked that,” he groaned into his hand again, only moved it briefly away to check on the miserable red flush spreading over Rimmer’s cheeks, “look: I’m truly, honestly not gonna punch you. I will truly, honestly _never_ punch you no matter how hard I’m tempted.”

“…That-“

“No, Rimmer, that is _not_ what people say before they start punching you once every day,” He fully moved that (now familiar) hand away for air, returned it almost immediately for fear of his body moving without him and slamming into the wall anyway, “Honestly, you’re as mad and paranoid as a- A… Mad and paranoid thing!”

“Eloquent.”

“ _Rimmer_.”

“Thank you,” the man was forced to give reluctantly, in a tone that rather implied that he would’ve been more grateful if he’d been stabbed in the gums by a mad dentist “… _Why_ won’t you punch me?”

A horrific possibility occurred to him. One _so_ horrific that he almost threw up, “do you… _really_ want me to punch you, Rimmer?”

“ _No_!”

“Then _why_ -?”

“You aren’t a saintly person, Lister, no matter how often you smugly hold technically being _God_ over the rest of us,” Rimmer was forced to give again, his arms crossing tighter and a downright _glower_ coming to his face, “you aren’t physically _capable_ of rising above things. So why don’t you punch me in the face and humiliate me utterly and _end_ all this?”

“…Because you’re my friend?”

“Hah! We are _not_ friends.”

“Because I’m not a violent person?”

“ _Hah_! Considering the amount of time you spent with that oaf Peterson I’m pretty sure that we can rule that _right_ out.”

“Because I actually _enjoy_ ‘all this’-?”

“Hah hah hah _hah_.”

“Okay then,” he grumbled, actually annoyed because Rimmer’s fake laughter was _actually_ the most annoying sound in _the whole wide universe_ , “ _Okay_. You want to know the real reason why I don’t just punch you? Why I don’t just ‘end all this’ for about five minutes? Why I don’t ‘humiliate you utterly’ with my physical strength or whatever?”

“…Yes-!”

“Because I can _already_ ‘humiliate you utterly’ with my _mouth_ , Rimmer!”

A longer pause.

…A far longer pause.

A pause that stretched towards the _worrying_ and he was on the verge of calling Kryten and asking if he knows anything about light bees and- 

“…You cannot,” finally came out of Rimmer’s mouth, a fair few _minutes_ too late.

“Hah,” he parroted smugly back at the man, sliding himself off the bunk until they were standing practically nose to nose, “I _can_ , you smeghead, and that just proved it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did _not_!”

“Did _too_ -“

“You couldn’t humiliate a _hamster_ , Lister,” Rimmer hissed, generated spittle _flying_ into the air and disappearing into nothing pretty much instantly, “the idea that _you_ , the basest fungus that somehow managed to crawl its way up from the bottom of the ocean, could somehow trouble _me_ is completely-!”

“I can prove it,” he grinned, on the back of a breath that tasted like… Chicken vindaloo, actually, but he could _pretend_.

“You could not!”

“Could _too_.”

Rimmer’s eyes flashed, so close to his that he could actually see them _darken_ , “go on, then!”

… _Okay_.

“You utter smeghead,” He hissed, because he figured that it was best to start with the _basics_ and all, “Smeg. Head. Piece of smeg. Smegging git. Smegging smeghead who _smegs_.”

Rimmer, to his credit… Only looked a little put out, “Is that the _best_ you have, Lister?”

“Nope!” It drove him onwards, at least, gave him _motivation_ or whatever the smeg it was they talked about in those big war movies where the main character kissed their girl goodbye then marched off to war with tears in his eyes and eventually ended up with no legs, or something, but was still the brave man inside and came back home to find that his girl still wanted him and- “you’re cowardly, crawling and _dumb_. You run from every bit of smegging danger, would happily kiss any arse that presented itself to you and failed the astronavigation exam _eleven_ times!”

“That was because-“ Rimmer halted, drew another deep breath, “you’ll still have to do better than _that_.”

“You were the most unpopular man on the ship,” and he shall, he _shall_ while trying to vaguely remember the name of that movie, “even more unpopular than Crieff. And Crieff never stopped talking about _airplanes_ , of all the smegging pointless things. And not only that You’re _still_ the most unpopular man on the ship-“

“There were two ships-“

“-On _both_ ships,” smeg, there have been a _lot_ of war movies with that general theme, “hell, Rimmer, you were even the most unpopular person _in your family_. And can you really blame them? Not only are you cowardly, crawling and _dumb_. You’re also entirely obsessed with yourself, the most neurotic man _in the universe_ and completely incapable of being anywhere near likeable for more than five minutes!”

“…Five minutes-?”

“When, and only _when_ you forget to talk about your smegging swimming certificates and your own stupid face and the fact that you once saved a pen from a crushing machine or some other pointless bit of smeg _despite the fact_ that that pen hadn’t worked for about _five years_.”

“…O-oh.”

“And perhaps, _perhaps_ , you’d be tolerable if you’d just admit that you actually hate yourself like any _normal_ British person,” he spread his arms, refused to listen, “But no! Despite all your _obvious_ character flaws you still act like you’re the best bonehead around!”

Rimmer made a choked little sound.

“ _King_ bonehead, in fact. Rimmsy. Arn. Old _iron_ balls, for smeg’s sake!” he spread his arms even wider, adopted an expression of _pure_ despair, “you’re the _worst_ kind of insecure bastard: the one who covers it by acting like the best thing since chicken vindaloo!”

Another choked sound.

“But you’re _not_.”

_Another_.

“You truly are just a cowardly, craven, dumb, unpopular, self obsessed-“

One that sounded almost like a whimper that time, desperate and high as if Rimmer was trying to hold himself back.

“-Neurotic, unlikable, insecure, arrogant, twattish, bastardly, stupid, _infuriating_ -“

Which he obviously was: judging by his nails digging into his palms, the shaking of his body, the way his eyes had slid shut, the way his teeth had bitten temptingly (except not temptingly, because what the _smeg_ ) into his lip.

“-Smeg. _Head_.”

…Which obviously meant _something_.

He watched Rimmer for a smug second, pleased. Half wanted to order the man to open his eyes, to actually _look_ his fist-pumping, ball-stomping triumph right in the face instead of hiding away and whining through his teeth and acting ever so superior due to the briefest lapse.

“Rimmer-“

He jerked in surprise when Rimmer’s eyes fluttered, his knees half-buckled under him. Immediately reached out: trying to catch the man, despite the fact that he was an _utter_ smeghead, trying to drag him back up to shake him or ask if he was alright or _something_ that he’d probably get mercilessly mocked over from multiple mouths later, “Smeg! _Rimmer_ , man? Rimmer, talk to-!”

…Rimmer shot right up.

Brushed his hair out of his red, sweating face. Clenched his free hand into a shaking fist, “ _why_ , Listy, should I talk to somebody who’s failed in such a way?”

…He blinked.

_Twice_ , “Are you alright-?”

“ _Perfectly_.”

“…Okay,” he searched for words. There were a lot of words. Most of them seemed to be ‘smeg’ but it was a _start_ , “you almost fell over there, are you sure you’re feeling alright-?”

“As I said, Lister: _perfectly_.”

“But you almost fell over-“

“Per. Fect. _Ly_.”

He gritted his teeth over the syllables, because who the smeg breaks up words into _syllables_ , clenched his fists too so he could speak in a generally sensible and intelligent and _not at all_ aggressive way, “but you almost _fell over_ , Rimmer. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Starving?”

“Holograms can’t eat, Lister, _no_.”

“Sleepy?”

“ _No_.”

“…Did I humiliate you _that_ much-?”

“You didn’t humiliate me at _all_ , Lister you _goit_ , so _absolutely smegging not_!”

“Then _why_ -?”

…He stopped.

_Stared_ at those red cheeks, the heavy way that Rimmer was breathing, the way his fists were still shaking just slightly, the way he was still sweating, the mortified look in his eyes, the faint easing of his back that he was trying not to show, the faint stain spreading at his crotch…

_Smeg_.

“You _got off_ on that?” He asked incredulously, half wanting to dive for the side for real and half wanting to actually put his fist in Rimmer’s face and half wanting to run away and half wanting to _snog_ that face and half wanting to see if he could push Rimmer to another orgasm with his just words and he knew that he had enough emotions for about six or so people but he didn’t really give a _smeg_ -, “Rimmer-!”

…Rimmer took one look at his face, “smell you later, Listy!”

“ _Rimmer_ -“

“It was nice seeing that you really _can’t_ back up your words with any serious action!”

“ _Rimmer_ -!”

…But the man had already run, practically _sprinted_ while tripping over his feet, out of the room.

Which left him stood there, staring. His mouth still open, confusion still probably all over his face, emotions still warring in a _highly_ smeggish way, hands still clenched into fists-

“For smeg’s sake, Rimmer, _wait_!”

…Yeah, smeg _that_.


End file.
